


Stilettos and Lace

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Lingerie, M/M, Rimming, Stiletto Heels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They haven't had sex in a while. Cas decides to surprise him with something... new. Dean doesn't like it—until he does. <i>A lot</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stilettos and Lace

Dean stumbled down the hall toward his room. Bruises crawled down his spine. His joints and muscles ached. When his phone chirped, he sighed. Everything hurt a little more when he reached for it. Glaring bright on the screen was a text from Cas. 

_Are you home?_

He debated lying. All he wanted to do was crawl to his room, get in bed and pass the fuck out for a few days. But… the thought of seeing Cas, holding him a little, made him more relaxed—and _happy_ —than most things did these days. Maybe they could cuddle for a few hours—he discovered he _liked_ cuddling with Cas—or… just sleep. Yeah, that sounded good to him. 

He squinted, thumbing tiny keys. 

_Just got in._

With a wince, he shoved the phone in his pocket, stepped into his room—then shut the door behind him as quickly as he could. He stared, mouth wide open, and couldn’t stop. 

There Cas was, standing in the middle of the room, perfectly normal—human, all his parts in the right places. What wasn’t normal was the black satin-and-lace garter belt and satin panties. Thin straps, silk stockings, stilettos—all of that… wasn’t normal. Not on a dude, at least. Not on _Cas_. _Especially_ not on Cas. 

Under his scrutinizing eyes, Cas clenched his fists. Lowered his gaze to the floor as if he knew he’d peed on the carpet. He was all sharp angles and rigid lines. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks. Shame darkened his face. 

The silence was deafening.

“Say something, Dean.”

Dean blew out a breath and scratched his head. “Like what? What do you want me to say? I mean…” He jerked a hand toward him. “What _is_ this, Cas? What are you doing?”

Cas jerked his chin to one side, heaved a breath and clenched his jaw—all sure indications he’d hurt his feelings. "I thought… since we hadn't... spent time together in a while, I'd..." He exhaled heavily. "I'd surprise you. I thought you might like it."

"Okay,” Dean said flatly. “And what… in the _world_ would’ve given you that impression?"

“Rhonda Hurley,” Cas dropped like a ten-ton weight.

_She made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what? We kind of liked it._

Cas was the only other living soul he’d ever told.

"Look. Cas—"

"I'll change."

Cas turned, but Dean caught him by the arm before he could get far. Like magnets, their bodies snapped together, fused chest-to-back. Their breathing became one, their heartbeat the same as if it were meant to be. Dean sighed. He loved this. It was simple. Cas and him. _Them_. Fact, like the laws of physics. 

He needed simple right now. No fighting. No hurt feelings.

Simple.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said against his neck. "I didn't mean it like that, all right? Just... not every day you see an ex-angel wearing stilettos and lace.”

He brushed the backs of his fingers down his spine, whispering an apology through touch. Cas let out a long exhale and the tension in his muscles went with it. His rod-straight shoulders relaxed. His chin dropped to his chest. To soothe his bruised ego, Dean planted a tender kiss on the knot of his spine, another on the back of his neck. Cas rumbled out a little noise of appreciation.

“Turn around,” Dean mumbled in his ear. “Let me take a look at you.”

Muscles seized under his touch again as if the very prospect scared him. Rejection was often sharper, hotter, than any of Hell’s knives or brands—and he felt like an asshole. When all was said and done, Cas had _tried_. 

When was the last time he tried? 

“Come on, Cas.” 

He kissed his shoulder, the hollow spot just below his earlobe. Cas shivered and leaned into his affection before slowly turning. He kept his blue eyes angled down. There was shame there, still. He’d made him feel stupid—and he would spent the rest of the night making it up to him. He’d do _anything_ to make him happy again. _Anything_. So, why was he just standing there, hesitating?

“Dean, if you don’t—“

“Shh,” he said quietly. “I got this.”

He reached down, thumbing the lace trim on the black satin garter belt. It should’ve felt soft and delicate under his fingers, but it didn’t. It was acid against his skin. His Dad’s son revolted at the idea of men wearing lace and satin, heels and lingerie. Men— _real men_ —were made to wear flannel, jeans, and rugged boots covered in mud. This… was against _everything_ he was brought up to be. Dean swallowed hard.

He told himself he’d try.

—and he wanted to more than anything with Cas so close. Almost chest-to-chest, every breath Cas let out skittered across his neck. His lips close, his body heat a furnace. Blue eyes studied him intently. Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Quirked a smile. Tugged on the lace a little. “You did this for me, huh?"

“Yes.”

The word was fragile and delicate like lace; as raw as it was nervous. Cas had put thought into this, done it all for him—and that alone was worth a hell of a lot.

“Gotta admit. I’m kind of impressed.”

Dean flashed him a sly smile, taking out his keys, wallet, phone, and tossing them aside. He shucked off his first two layers and Cas swallowed hard. Anticipation made him hard through satin, cock burning against Dean’s thigh. Cas needed him. Dean needed him—and just to tease, to make it a shade more painful for both of them, he spent a little more time removing his watch and toeing off his boots. The air thickened with the promise of sex.

Their eyes met. Cas held his breath. 

Gently, Dean cupped his cheek in one of his hands, thumbed his skin, leaned in and… Cas trembled against him when Dean didn’t kiss him. Teasing him so brutally, taking so long, that Cas’ only choice was to force out the air he’d been holding. It was hot with need, sweetened with a whimper. They looked at each other again. Dean smiled, then kissed him. Their lips interlocked and lingered. Cas tasted of salt and a little bit of mint. His tender skin smelled of soap and a note of aftershave, or cologne—or… didn’t matter. He was fucked up on it, intoxicated as an addict on his drug of choice. Dean curled his opposite hand in the garter belt and jerked Cas closer. Kissing him hard, unrelenting in his search of him. His tongue parted Cas’ lips, plunging inside, and Cas groaned with it. Their hips melted together. Their cocks hard and rubbing. Kissing him wasn’t enough. 

None of this was ever going to be enough.

Dean grabbed his face with both hands. They kissed until their mouths were red and abused, until they couldn’t breathe. When Dean pulled back, Cas whined a little, inching forward to get at his mouth again. Dean put a finger to his lips, slipped him another sly smile, and brushed the backs of his fingers over a nipple. Cas made another noise when he thumbed it, gasped when he licked it. Dean gave it all the attention in the world. Kissed it. Sucked it. Nipped it with his teeth. Cas threw his hips forward and groaned in his ear. It took everything he had not to come right then and there. It’d been too long since they’d fucked. Way too long.

The backs of his fingers trailed down over his ribs, his side, to the sharp angles of his hipbones. Dean licked his nipple one last time before kissing his lips again. Passionately, this time. Hotter than the goddamn sun. Their tongues went deep, making sure every inch didn’t go untouched. His fingers wandered, tracing a line over satin and lace, along the waistline to the front. Cas’ hard cock waited for him. His wet head peeked over the waistband and when he touched it, thumbed it gently, Cas broke their kiss and panted. His breath blew over his face like a summer’s breeze, his eyes blue-black with lust and sex. Cas inched his hips upward, grinding into his hand. He wanted to be touched, fondled— _taken_. Made to feel like he’d made the right choice in all this.

Cas had and he would show him.

He touched him outside his satin panties, rubbing him lengthwise with firm, even strokes. Closing his eyes, Cas wet his own lips and pressed their foreheads together. He could see it on his face—how good it felt. Dean continued to stroke him, tuned in to everything _Cas_ ; every inflection, every response. Cas swallowed hard each time he thumbed his head. Shivered when his fingers dipped low to fondle his balls. When Dean slipped a hand into his panties—Cas shot out a groan so full, so beautiful he almost lost it. It was rich and deep, and told him how much Cas loved this—and he did, too. He liked how the satin kissed his knuckles, the fabric cool and hot at the same time. Although Cas was anything but, he loved how vulnerable and delicate it made Cas feel in his hands. He was a trembling flower, as pretty as lace trim. 

Flowers can sometimes sting like bees.

Impatience flashed in his eyes. Cas nipped his bottom lip. Hard—and it fucking _hurt_. Dean grabbed his throat and pulled him in, punishing him with a brutal kiss. Cas moaned under the strain, thrusting his hips forward again. His body language was all _fuck me_ and _abuse me_. But Dean wouldn’t have any of that. He softened his fingers around his neck and pecked his lips. His hand stroked and fondled him, then sank deeper. His balls got a gentle tug, then—Cas nearly melted against him, puffing a breath in his ear. He spread his legs wider, wider, letting him fuck his loose hole with a finger. Shuddering, falling apart under his touch, Cas teethed his ear, and—

“Dean.”

—groaned out his name so sweetly, so… Dean sighed against him. Kissed his neck, then his lips. Cas wouldn’t last much longer if he kept teasing him like this. He wouldn’t, either.

Fuck it.

He turned Cas around and threw him on the bed. Cas lost control of himself—because of the shoes—and landed face-first, flat on his stomach. Legs twisted, feet crooked. Thighs at the edge of the bed. Cas tried to right himself. Dean stopped him and sank to his knees. With his ass ready for him like it was, it was difficult to resist just… fucking him until they both passed out from exhaustion. He looked down at his twisted feet, grabbed his ankles gently and righted them. He thumbed the stilettos slowly, up the spine of the heel, over the shiny, sleek material. How women walked in these things, he’d never know. How Cas looked in them… awkward, like a fish out of water. His calves, though. _Fuck_. Cas had always had strong legs, but now, with the heels on… it accentuated how toned he truly was, how much muscle was visible under his skin. It was… beautiful. 

His hands glided over silk stockings and hard muscle. In front of him, Cas was looking over his shoulder at him, quizzically. Then flopped his head against the mattress when Dean kissed his calf, the back of his thigh, up to his ass. He nipped at it and Cas jerked, lifting his head up, staring at him with dark, narrowed eyes. Dean flashed him a quick grin and slapped his ass cheek. Hard. Revenge for biting him. Cas stiffened, grunting. He opened his mouth—Cas didn’t like spankings, he’d discovered a long time ago—and Dean raised his hand again. Taking the hint, Cas clenched his jaw and stayed quiet.

Dean soothed the red handprint with a light touch of fingers. He kissed it, kissed it again, under Cas’ harsh scrutiny. Dean smiled against his skin, planted another tiny kiss, and hooked the back strap of his panties with a thumb. He pulled it aside, spread his cheeks, and licked him. With a desperate groan, Cas flopped over again, spreading his legs on either side of Dean’s knees. Rolling his ass up for the taking. Dean swiped his tongue over his hole, mouthed him hard and wet. It always drove Cas crazy, this, licking and kissing and abusing his hole until he was reduced to an incoherent mess. Cas clawed at the mattress, gasped into the covers as he worked him open. So out of breath and desperate, that all he could truly hear was quiet, shallow little whimpers. He went as deep as he could, tonguing his rim, flicking in and out, taking all of it with hard strokes. He buried his face in him, eating him out as if he were starving. Each of Cas’ groans became filthier, heavier, so ripe with his sex that Dean knew he’d explode any second. He should stop, let him rest, but he didn’t.

Worse, he fit his hand between Cas’ legs, found his dick, and began stroking it. Cas angled his hips back, giving him more room, rolling forward to fuck into his fist. Dean didn’t stop fucking his hole with his tongue. Working his rosebud with his mouth so eagerly Cas was guaranteed to blow his load any second. But the fucker held tough, turning him on so much he’d pop one in his pants himself. He sucked on him while fisting the head of his dick, just like he knew Cas loved it. Then, he traded in the rapid, teasing strokes for long and hard ones, down the entire length of his shaft. Cas was face-deep into the mattress, practically screaming out his pleasure. His groans and noises were so loud, it was a wonder Sam hadn’t moved out by now. As soon as Dean felt Cas swell in his hands, he stopped. Everything. Rimming him, jerking him off—

—and Cas turned so suddenly, Dean thought Cas was going to punch his lights out. Instead, Cas backed up on the bed, panting hard, face beet red, and spread his legs. “Dean. _Please_.” 

It was raw and desperate. Cas needed to be fucked now.

Dean yanked off his black t-shirt, stood up and tore off his underwear and jeans. He scrambled onto the bed. His cock throbbed in his hands and he gave it a few good strokes. Cas looked up at him with hungry eyes. He was covered in perspiration from head to toe, his satin panties blacker and stained with anticipation, sweat and come. His dick peeked out at him from the waistband, his stockings run, and one of the straps had snapped free. Cas was a mess. He’d done that to him. Satin, lace and stilettos—God, they’d been such a turn on. Still were. He fisted his cock a few more times, his eyes hooded with his need for him.

“Gonna fuck you so hard, Cas.”

Cas writhed on the bed and groaned. Dean grabbed his ankles, hooked them on his shoulders, and pulled aside the back strap again, just enough so he could fuck him with his panties still on. When he rubbed the head of his dick over Cas’ hole, Cas gasped. Dean shoved in without hesitating. 

The rush of heat, the way Cas clenched tight around him—he did everything not to come. He kept completely still, thought of shit that should’ve immediately pulled him back. It didn’t. He opened his eyes. Cas looked at him expectantly, his mouth hanging open, panting hard.

“Goddamn it, Cas,” he whispered. “I’m not going to last long— _fuck_.”

“Dean,” Cas whined.

Dean reached around his legs, hugging them to his chest, grabbed his shoulders—and slammed into him. Hard. Cas gasped like it hurt, but he knew it didn’t. Not with how loose he’d made Cas, not with how hard he regularly fucked him. Just felt so good—for the both of them. They fit each other like they were made from the same mold. Like God, or whoever, hand-picked them to be together. That was how it’d always be.

They’d be together.

He forgot all about the sappy shit once he established a rhythm—no, not a rhythm, more like fucking his brains out. He jackhammered him, sending his hips crashing forward, plunging his dick into his hole as if it were a goddamn weapon. The noises Cas made—they couldn’t even be called groans. Not anymore. More like shouts or screams, even, declaring how good he was being fucked. Harder and harder, he thrust his hips, letting out a groan of his own—one Cas took as a signal that soon, this would be all over. Cas grabbed his own cock, gripped it hard, and pumped it fast. The sight of that alone—Cas fucking himself, black satin panties low and bunched at his balls— _goddamn it_ … Dean took in a shaky breath, trying to make everything last a little bit longer. Fucking him as hard as he could while maintaining some sort of control—just so Cas could feel rewarded, loved… _shit_.

He looked down, watched his dick disappear inside Cas—

—then fucking _lost it_. He orgasm punched into him and stole his breath away. Cas arched his back and clenched, shouted out his name, loud and obscene. Come splattered over Cas’ chest, up over his throat, even a little on his face. Dean poured into him. Kept coming and coming. By the end of it, they were sticky, out of breath, and wet with sweat. Come everywhere.

Dean rolled off him and stared up at the ceiling. They panted in the dark, way too fucking tired to towel off. They lay there until they could breathe normally, until their hearts didn’t pound in their throats. They looked at each other, but didn’t say anything. Not yet. After a while of staring, Dean looked him from head to toe—his satin panties and garter belt, the stilettos—nodded and said, “Good call.”

That had Cas smiling ear-to-ear.


End file.
